Understanding
by wizardofahz
Summary: An unsub is making the team live through each other's worst experiences. He sees it as a game, but they certainly don't. Team fic.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own _Criminal Minds_. It's as plain and simple as that.

A/N: Oops, I started another story. When we first learned there would be an unsub targeting the team in season 8, this is what my mind came up with. And in typical fashion, it has taken me nearly a year to get the story down onto the page so to speak.

This takes place shortly after season 7 ends. Prentiss is still on the team, and nothing from season 8 has happened. It's nothing against Blake. I just don't know her well enough to write her yet.

* * *

Jennifer Jareau sluggishly opened her eyes.

It didn't seem to do her much good. All she saw were hazy blobs of blurriness, and her thoughts were of the same ilk. She was lying on her back. She knew that much. As her vision slowly came into focus, she was met with an unwelcome sight: Will's lifeless eyes staring back at her.

"Will," she croaked.

She shakily reached out to touch him, but her hand recoiled as a knife plunged into her abdomen. She groaned in pain as the knife was slowly retracted.

"You'll be fine," a voice somewhere above her said. "I haven't hit any major organs."

The pain radiated out from the wound and through her body, jolting her brain awake. Thoughts began swirling through her head. _Will's dead. No, he can't be dead. Please let this be a terrible nightmare and nothing more. I only just tucked Henry in. Oh God, where's Henry?_

"Relax," the voice cooed as it stabbed her again. "We have a long night ahead of us."

* * *

Spencer Reid grinned as Ethan finished his piece with a flourish.

The lounge's patrons applauded, and Ethan said "thank you" with a small bow as he stepped away from the piano.

"That was good," Reid complimented. And because they were rivals as much as they were friends, he added, "But of course I've heard better."

"Well certainly not from yourself," Ethan retorted with a playful shove.

The two left the lounge where Ethan had been guest performing for its jazz-themed week. As Reid walked Ethan to his rental car, he said, "You should visit more often."

"What would be the point? It's not as though I enjoy seeing you," Ethan joked. "Besides, you're barely here."

Reid had to concede that point, so he said, "Well, it's good to see you, man."

"You too," Ethan replied as he opened the car door. "Maybe next time I'll see you down in New Orleans."

"Maybe," Reid agreed. He waited until Ethan had settled in and started his engine before walking to his own car.

As Ethan drove by, Reid raised a hand to wave a final goodbye when Ethan's car suddenly exploded flinging the young agent backward. Dazed, he gingerly sat himself up and gaped at the burning mass that was once Ethan and his car.

* * *

Derek Morgan stared out the plane window.

He couldn't believe it. His mother was dead, killed in a car accident because some drunken idiot couldn't keep his hands on the wheel. As soon as his sister Sarah had called him, he booked a red-eye flight to Chicago.

It just wasn't right.

He'd lost his father at the tender age of nine, which left him vulnerable to being victimized as a youth. His cousin had gone missing, and he still considered it a blessing that they'd found her and brought her home. He had also found a good family with the BAU.

Things were supposed to be getting better not worse.

A pre-take off announcement reminding passengers to turn off all electronic devices sounded throughout the plane, and with a sigh Morgan turned off his phone.

* * *

Emily Prentiss struggled against the restraints.

She heard footsteps approach from behind the chair in which she sat, and she began to struggle harder.

"Well aren't you feisty," the unsub said and began tying a tube around Prentiss' arm while remaining behind her. The unsub jabbed a syringe into one of her veins, and though she couldn't see a face, Prentiss could hear a smile in the voice, "Dilaudid. I believe you are somewhat familiar with this particular drug."

"Why are you doing this?" Prentiss took the opportunity to ask whilst she still had her mental faculties intact.

Instead of answering, the unsub merely said, "I'll be back with your next fix in a bit. Enjoy."

* * *

Penelope Garcia woke with a start.

A hand was clamped around her mouth, and the weight of another body was suddenly upon her. She squirmed, trying desperately to escape, but the unsub's position was too strong. She felt a hand make its way down her pajama pants, and though she tried to scream, the most she could manage were whimpers and muted squeals. As the hand began to stroke her, she tried her best to shut down. She briefly considered trying to concentrate on details that could later identify this pig of a human being, but to focus on him was to focus on what he was doing, and she couldn't bring herself to do it. One thing was for certain: she would not react, she would not give this son of a bitch the satisfaction of that.

After the unsub finished, the sound of a gun cocking next to her ear warned her not to scream as the unsub removed its hand from her mouth and made its escape.

She had never felt so violated in her entire life, and that in and of itself felt like the understatement of the century. Trembling violently and barely holding it together, she scrambled towards her phone and speed-dialed Morgan - she couldn't bear the thought of dealing with the police at the moment - only to have the call go straight to voicemail.

"Derek... Derek Morgan, pick up the phone!" Garcia screamed into the receiver. Tears began to stream down her cheeks. "Damn it, Derek Morgan, I need you!"

* * *

David Rossi frowned as his senses returned to him.

He had not gone to sleep on a concrete slab. He was sure of that. In fact, he had spent an absurd amount of money to ensure that going to bed would never feel like that.

Sitting up, he determined he was in an abandoned warehouse of sorts. He automatically reached for his holster only to find, quite predictably, that it wasn't there. In spite of that he decided to have a look around. He turned a corner only to be impaled by a thick wooden stake. Falling to his knees, his hands immediately grasped at the object protruding from his belly.

"Don't worry," a voice comforted as he began to lose consciousness. "An ambulance will be along shortly to collect you."

* * *

Aaron Hotchner was sleeping peacefully.

But of course it didn't last. The dreaded sound of his ringtone roused him from his slumber, and he reached out a sluggish hand to grab ahold of his phone.

"Hello?" Hotch said in a well-practiced voice, sounding much more awake than he felt in case a local LEO was calling for the BAU's help.

"Is this Aaron Hotchner?"

"Yes, and to whom am I speaking?"

"Mr. Hotchner, I'm Officer Hugh Neame of the NYPD."

"And how can I help you, Officer?"

"Mr. Hotchner, I regret to inform you that your brother Sean was found dead this morning at approximately 5:30 am."

Whatever Hotch had been expecting, it wasn't that though he supposed he should've found it weird a local LEO preceded his surname with Aaron and Mr. rather than agent.

With Hotch too stunned to respond, the officer continued on, "We're currently handling this as a suicide. I understand that this is difficult news, but I have to ask. Is there anything you can tell us about your brother's mental state as of late? Were there any signs that he might commit such an act?"

"I... I don't know," Hotch finally managed. "We aren't... weren't close."

With a bored voice as though he couldn't be bothered to continue speaking to anyone who hadn't proved useful, the officer asked, "Then I assume you know nothing of his drug habit as well?"

Yet another surprise for Hotch. "What?"

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Hotchner. I or someone in my office will let you know if there are any new developments." And with that, the officer hung up.

Hotch stared blankly at the wall. His baby brother was dead.

* * *

_Thanks for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, read, favorited, and followed! (I think that should just about cover all of you.)

It's really hard to write when you have to watch an episode for research and then another episode and then another... (Also, someone needs to take _QI _away from me.) Anyway, many episodes later, I have finished this chapter, so enjoy! :)

* * *

The radio played softly in the background.

Desperate not to talk about the incident but despising silence all the same, Garcia had turned on the radio the moment Hotch started the engine, and it was fine by him. She had called him after attempts at reaching Morgan, JJ, Prentiss, and even Reid proved fruitless, and he had in turn called the the local PD who was currently processing her apartment.

As they drove along the nearly empty roads to the hospital for Garcia's sexual assault exam, her cellphone rang suddenly startling the both of them. Seeing Derek Morgan's name appear on her screen, Garcia harrumphed in an almost petulant manner. She was tempted not to answer - he hadn't, why should she? - and probably wouldn't have if Hotch hadn't been looking at her expectantly. "Hello?"

"Hey, Garcia," Morgan's voice sounded subdued and tired.

"Hey? That's all you're going to give me? Hey?" Garcia snapped, her emotions getting the better of her as the night's events took their toll.

But Morgan would have none of it. "Woah, pump your brakes. My mama died, all right? I was on a flight to Chicago when you called, and I've only just got the opportunity to call you back."

"Oh," Garcia whispered in a small voice, suddenly feeling guilty for her outburst.

"I'm sorry, Baby Girl," Morgan exhaled, equally as remorseful. "I just... I'm sorry. Are you all right? Your message sounded... urgent." He chose that last word carefully, euphemistically going with urgent though desperate was more like it.

"Nevermind, I'm sorry about your mom," Garcia replied quickly, hanging up before Morgan could inquire further.

"You didn't tell him," Hotch commented without judgment.

"His mom just died," Garcia explained, and she was spared a continued conversation this time by Hotch's phone.

Pressing a button on the dashboard console, Hotch answered, "Hello?"

"Agent Hotchner, this is Detective Bradbury with Metro PD," the women on the other end of the line introduced herself, her voice filling the car.

After the phone call about Sean, Hotch felt his stomach sink. "What can I do for you, Detective?"

"I was wondering if you know anything about Agent Jareau's whereabouts."

Hotch's stomach sank even further. "I can't say for sure, but my guess would be that she's at home."

There was a period of silence before Detective Bradbury spoke again, "No more than an hour ago, our team received a call from the Jareau-LaMontagne household. When we arrived, we found Detective LaMontagne on the living room floor. He's dead, having been shot a few times in the chest. There was also a pool of blood next to him, most likely from someone else, possibly Agent Jareau as we haven't been able to locate her. Thankfully, their son Henry was found asleep upstairs in his room. I don't think he heard or saw anything."

Hotch stared blankly ahead. He sank so deep in thought he didn't hear Garcia gasp beside him. If he hadn't been driving on straight, empty roads, he certainly would have crashed or run off the road. He tried his best to process the new information but found he simply couldn't.

He was brought back to earth by the insistent beeping of his phone. "Can I call you back? I have another incoming call."

"Sure, and I'll let you know if we find something," Detective Bradbury said kindly before Hotch accepted the new call.

"Hello," Hotch greeted the new caller.

"Is this Aaron Hotchner?" a deep voice queried.

"Yes." Hotch responded shortly, though his mind screamed, _Not again!_ His stomach felt like it was about to start digesting itself.

"This is Nurse Pittman at St. Sebastian Hospital," the caller introduced himself. "As the emergency contact listed on file, I'm calling to inform you that David Rossi is currently in surgery."

"I'm on my way," Hotch said before hanging up, desperately hoping for no more phone calls. According to the saying, no news was good news, and at this point, he needed all the good news he could get.

* * *

"Can I get you anything?"

Hotch's voice was soft. Too soft, and Garcia didn't like it one bit. It just wasn't right. It reinforced the notion that something had gone very, very wrong. They sat in the hospital after Garcia's sexual assault exam, waiting for someone to come and take her statement.

"You don't have to be here," Garcia said quietly in response. "You can go check on Rossi or something."

"They'll let me know when he's out of surgery," Hotch responded. "I can't do anything for him, but I can be here for you."

_I can try not being useless_, Hotch thought woefully_. _Some team leader he was. One night and everything had gone to hell.

Finally, a female officer approached. "Ms. Garcia, before I get your statement, I have to ask. Did you bring your badge when you checked into the hospital earlier?"

Looking to Hotch for support, Garcia whispered, "No."

Hotch glared at the officer suspiciously. That wasn't a routine question. "Why do you ask?"

The officer's eyes bounced back and forth between Hotch and Garcia before finally settling on the latter. "Not long ago, a woman was dropped off in front of the ER with your badge."

Garcia's eyes widened. "What?"

"She was stabbed nine times," the officer continued on. "All of them non-lethal."

"JJ," Hotch exhaled.

His mind began spinning. Will had been shot in chest. JJ, if it was indeed her, had been stabbed. All of that screamed Foyet. Sean had supposedly committed suicide just like JJ's sister. Garcia had been molested, just like Morgan had been as a teen. He'd need to check how Morgan's mother died, but he'd be willing to bet it had been because of a drunk driver. Rossi had been impaled like Prentiss, but what about Prentiss and Reid?

His phone rang, and he looked at the Caller ID. Speak of the devil. "Reid, I need you to -"

But Reid quickly barreled over him. "Hotch, Ethan just died in a car bomb. Local PD said they'd be okay with us taking the case. I thought about it, and I think it's targeted at me, Hotch. It wasn't wired to the car's engine because it didn't go off when he turned the started the car. It probably wasn't a pressure bomb because he was still seated when it exploded. Someone triggered it just as he was driving by me, Hotch. There's no reason for someone to do that unless it was about me."

"Reid," Hotch tried to interject gently.

Sensing the unit chief wasn't eager to take on the case, the young genius pressed on. "Hotch, I just spent hours trying to get them to pay attention to me. First I had to deal with the EMTs who said I had a concussion, and they wanted to take me to the hospital for a CT scan, but I'm fine, Hotch. I never lost consciousness. And then the local PD kept using that as an excuse not to listen to me. They kept asking me if Ethan had any enemies, Hotch. I told them they were looking it at it all wrong, but they wouldn't listen. They kept saying I was in shock, but I finally got them to listen to me, Hotch. The case is ours."

"Reid," Hotch said again, though this time his voice was much sharper. "I understand that this is important to you, and I'm glad you're all right, but I need you to come to St. Sebastian Hospital."

* * *

Hotch sat at JJ's bedside, waiting for her to wake up from the anaesthesia.

Garcia was taking care of Henry, using the opportunity to distract herself from the memories plaguing her mind and distract Henry from looking for his parents. Reid was sitting in the waiting room, waiting for updates on Rossi's surgery. Prentiss' whereabouts remained a mystery as all calls went unanswered. Fearing the worst, Hotch had called Anderson to have him check her apartment. He'd changed his mind: no news was not good news.

As his phone began to vibrate, he quickly looked at the screen, hoping for the caller to be Anderson with good news. Instead, the area code told him the caller was from New York, and he sighed assuming the call to be about Sean.

He was right.

"Hello?" Hotch said as he moved out to the the hallway, keeping the door open so as to keep an eye on JJ in case she woke up.

"Mr. Hotchner, this is Officer Neame with the NYPD. We spoke earlier on the phone," the unfortunately familiar dull tones of the officer's voice came through the phone.

"I remember," Hotch said shortly, the man's voice already putting him on edge.

"I'm calling to inform you that your brother Sean's death is now officially ruled a suicide."

"Already?" Hotch looked at his watch. "It's barely been a few hours. Has the coroner finished the autopsy?"

Instead of answering the question, Neame continued, "There is ample evidence to indicate -"

"And what evidence is that?" Hotch asked, needing specifics. He needed this to make sense. Well... make as much sense as possible. There were too many deaths in one night. It was too coincidental. Maybe Sean hadn't killed himself after all.

He began to pace.

"It is not uncommon for drug abusers to -"

Hotch could feel himself get more and more annoyed by the second. "I'm guessing he didn't die from an overdose, because then you wouldn't classify this as a suicide. So how did he die, and what about it indicates suicide and not foul play?"

"Drug abuse is often indicative of a very unhappy life." Neame said in response, once again not answering Hotch's questions. "It is not uncommon for -"

Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, Hotch snapped, "I wouldn't call that conclusive at all."

"With all due respect, Mr. Hotchner," Officer Neame said in a voice that indicated there really was no respect at all.

But Hotch had had enough. "Actually, it's _Agent_ Hotchner, Unit Chief of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. If you're going to classify my brother's death as a suicide, give me some hard evidence, and I'll learn to accept it. But if you're going to call it a suicide because you're lazy or because of his life style, I'll go so far up your chain of command the expression 'hell to pay' won't be sufficient to describe your situation, so I suggest you get your act together and inform me only when you've reached a sufficient conclusion based on _ALL_ the evidence."

And with that, Hotch hung up.

"I'm sorry about Sean," a weak voice muttered behind him.

Spinning quickly, he saw JJ struggle to open her eyes. He caught a momentary glimpse of blue before her eyes shut again.

Making his way to her bedside, he asked, "How are you feeling?"

"How are _you _feeling?" JJ weakly shot back.

"JJ," Hotch tried to shift the focus back to her.

But she cut him off. "I don't want to talk about it."

And because he didn't want to talk about Sean either, he said, "It seems the whole team had a rather terrible night."

"Everyone?" Even after her terrible night, JJ's concern for her teammates shone through in her voice.

"I don't know about Prentiss," Hotch admitted.

"Well wonder no more," a voice said from the doorway.

* * *

_Thanks for reading!_


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